Memorium for the Rain
by Evil Is A Relative Term
Summary: Nanashi remembered only Ryo. Ryo only knew Nanashi. Their past began together. Partners and elite swords-for-hire in the country of Rain. But what happens when their past as Haruno Sakura and Hyuuga Neji returns?
1. The Edge of the World

Nanashi remembered only Ryo. Ryo only knew Nanashi. Their past began together. Partners and elite swords-for-hire in the country of Rain. But what happens when their past as Haruno Sakura and Hyuuga Neji returns?

Disclaimer: All rights belong to someone else, though my OCs are my original creations.

A/N: I always wanted to try an amnesia fic. Next will be time travel, I think. Sakura-centric, of course. I don't think I've ever written anything else for Naruto. This story will be short. Probably. Please don't kill me for putting this up. It's been written for a while and I really work better if I have several projects ongoing at once.

Memorium for the Rain

Chapter One

The Edge of the World

The fighting conditions had been unfavorable. That was a given as ninja in foreign territory. Rain country was even more unwelcoming than most. It was cliff country, the rivers having eaten deep canyons into the soft limestone an age ago, with little to no cover on the flatlands. Rain country also had a dense shinobi population.

It had been recipe for disaster. A team from the Village Hidden in the Leaves had been gathered for the mission: Yamanaka Ino, Suzuki Tenten, Haruno Sakura, Inuzuka Kiba, Abarame Shino, and Hyuuga Neji. In and out. A-class, barely. Scroll retrieval.

The enemy shinobi had been using a specialized poison and outnumbered them five to one. Not bad odds for a member of the young elite. But they'd targeted the medic-nin assigned for the mission, Haruno Sakura. Overwhelmed, she'd been pushed back to the edge of a canyon. Most of her combat abilities relied on chakra-enhanced strength-the kind that in any other situation would have let her create her own canyon and bury her enemies alive in it.

The time-limit for her antidote's abilities to break down the poison into harmless proteins was reached. There was a shout for help from Yamanaka Ino. A small hypodermic capsule had been tossed, just enough of a distraction for Haruno Sakura to take a lucky blow from an enemy ninja. Apparently unconscious, she'd begun to fall, but Hyuuga Neji managed to retrieve her. His one-handed grip on the canyon wall was secure. There was little to no danger. It would only be a moment's work for the prodigy to pull them to safety.

He'd managed that, bringing himself back onto the edge of the flatland, Haruno Sakura's body tucked close to his. They were still surrounded, but Hyuuga Neji was the equal and better of the two enemy ninja who'd been waiting for them to reappear.

But then there'd been a scream. Suzuki Tenten had been ambushed by three shinobi and the other members of the team were occupied with their own battles. Hyuuga Neji had a moment to decide. Should he save the life of his teammate or concentrate on his own safety and that of the dazed medic-nin dangling in his hold? It was an easy decision. His thrown kunai killed two of the three ambushers and Suzuki Tenten was able to dispose of the last. An enemy ninja's sword drew a red stroke diagonally from waist to shoulder, unbalancing him.

Hyuuga Neji and Haruno Sakura plunged out of sight soundlessly. The only screams were those of their teammates. After the enemy shinobi were dispatched, the team spent a further two days scouring the surrounding area for any traces of their companions or their bodies. They found nothing. When the team returned to the Village Hidden in the Leaves, they were declared missing-in-action. A year later Haruno Sakura and Hyuuga Neji were declared dead and their names added to the memorial stone. The Hokage wept.

-X-X-

Matsuoka Isamu was a farmer, but he hadn't always been. So when he saw the filthy girl hovering worriedly over another equally filthy human form he wanted to walk away. Three things stopped him.

The first was the echo of his wife's nagging in his head, if he somehow slipped and mentioned he'd walked away later. That was the one that decided him.

The second was that the boy on the ground was obviously dying. And nowadays Isamu believed that every human being deserved to die with a little dignity. In the mud, clothed in rags, far from anyone or anything was not it.

The third was the peculiar, unfocused way that the girl was trying to care for her companion. She was blind.

The girl, who had slimy, mud-caked hair that might once have been red, started like a scared rabbit when he spoke to her. Keeping his voice low and soothing, like he was herding a nervous cow that might bolt at any time, he managed to secure her permission to approach her companion.

Still murmuring nonsense to her, he hefted her tall companion over his shoulders, grabbing her hand and having her take hold of his shirt so she could follow them back. He wasn't going to hold her hand.

As he expected, Nozomi fussed over them like a hen with chicks. Infection and blood loss was what she pronounced was killing the young man. His fever was dangerously high and Isamu grumbled as he was sent to fetch ingredients for poultices and remedies. He had cows that needed milked, chickens that needed to be let out to range, and sheep to move before they destroyed the grass.

The girl was herded into a corner, watching with lost, blank eyes as her companion was treated. Nozomi looked her over with equal concern when she'd applied the first of her treatments to the boy. She discovered the likely cause of her blindness-she'd struck something hard, leaving a long and vicious gash down the back of her head. His wife worried that the skull beneath was fractured, but they didn't have the ability to treat it whether it was or wasn't.

She sent him out to get hair from one of their horses' tails, which she soaked in a dish of sake to sterilize. Performing a similar ritual with one of her sewing needles, she stitched the torn skin back together with the thick hair. The girl whimpered but didn't move or cry out, which Isamu approved of.

There were other injuries that revealed themselves as his wife gently sponged the girl clean in their old wooden tub. Isamu had grumbled as he'd been forced to carry and heat water for that too. Nozomi had said they'd probably been caught in a flash flood from the bruising and the confused description she'd managed to get from the girl. It was a common enough occurrence.

What made Isamu grumble more was the discovery that the girl remembered _nothing_ from before the water and neither did the boy, according to what she said. They'd wandered for several days before Isamu had stumbled onto them, which would have given plenty of time for the boy's infection to set in.

He'd been forced to help Nozomi wash the boy while the girl ate. At least he'd had normal colored hair, not the pink mop that had appeared when the mud had been washed from the girl's hair. It was his eyes that were strange. They were pupiless and very nearly white. He also had a strange tattoo on his forehead. All this had set Isamu's mouth into a firm, stern line, but he didn't say anything to his wife. Even if they had been shinobi once, they weren't any longer.

-X-X-

The girl remembered the shocking coldness, swallowing water and struggling to breathe, then a sudden pain in the back of her head that confused the memories more. A boy's desperate voice, his reaching hands.

Him protecting her with his body, the pained gasp and sickly crack of bone against something hard. He'd been there when they struggled from the water together hours or minutes later, his grip tight enough to bruise. His long, calloused fingers as they ran across her cheekbones as he murmured he was sorry, he couldn't remember why, but he was so sorry.

The girl couldn't remember why they had been in the water to begin with. She only remembered the boy, the pain, the hunger, the fear, and then the man-Isamu. He'd taken the boy after he'd collapsed. She didn't know what had been wrong with him. He'd never said anything, but she'd noticed how his palms had been sticky with sweat when he held her hand and how his voice had weakened as the days passed.

The boy should have told her. She would have-the girl flinched with pain. The brief but intense headache passed. She didn't know what it meant.

The man's wife, Nozomi, clucked with her tongue as she pulled a comb through the girl's tangled hair. "Such a pretty color," she told her softly. Though the girl couldn't see, she thought Nozomi must be a stout older woman, the kind who still wore an apron. She also didn't know what the woman was talking about. Her hair?

"We can't keep calling you 'girl.' There's no one here but me and Isamu, but we've still got manners," she said.

"Then call her Nanashi," the gruff voice that the girl identified with Isamu grumbled from the far side of the room.

"That's just cruel," his wife chided.

"It's fine," the girl said, desperate to keep in Isamu's good favor. He'd saved the boy and that was all that mattered.

"Oh, you poor dear," Nozomi said. Her voice sounded thick, like she was near tears. "Then we'll at least call the boy something more hopeful. Ryo," she said fondly.

"Tch," the man snorted. "Don't get all weepy-eyed with me, woman. If you want to coddle him like he's the son you never had, that's your business. I have chores to do."

There were footsteps, then an opening and shutting of doors that Nanashi assumed meant he'd left.

"Pay no mind to him," the woman said, gently moving hair away from her eyes. "He's just an old grump."

"Will the boy, Ryo, be alright?" Nanashi asked.

The weight of the woman's hand descended on her head. "Of course. We'll give it our best and kami-sama will do the rest. Now, be a good girl and sit here. I have to go and check on Ryo."

Nanashi nodded. If Ryo would be alright, then anything would be worth it. Ryo was all she had.

-X-X-

It would take a long time for the boy to recover. More than a season, if Isamu knew anything about wounds. He wouldn't take him into town for better care. If he recovered, he would do it here. It gave Nozomi something to do, even when he was out of the woods. If she managed to fight the infection, she'd have to deal with relapses, then small fevers once those were done. His muscles would be weak for a long time, not only from the time he'd spent in bed.

It was the girl that was the problem. Nanashi. Nameless. She'd insisted she wanted to help. Not with Ryo, he was too delicate to risk being nursed by the newly blind, but she kept trying to help with small chores around the house.

She really just made more of a mess, which frustrated her, but Nozomi would only cluck softly with her tongue and tell her she could try again, that she would learn. Nanashi didn't even remember if she'd been blind before-if the wound in her head was only that and not the cause of her blindness. The girl had a sense of pride that wouldn't just accept the help-she felt she had to pay the couple back.

Isamu approved of that. What he didn't approve of was Nozomi's suggestion.

"Train her," she'd told him. "I know you quit that life for me, but one day you'll regret that you weren't able to pass your skills on. It will help her adapt."

"No," he told her with finality. "I wouldn't train a girl in any case. Let alone one with pink hair."

It was Nozomi's turn to press her lips together in displeasure, but she nodded and accepted his decision. It was only later, when the shinobi from Rain came looking for foreign ninja that matched their descriptions that he began to reconsider. They didn't say where Nanashi and Ryo were from or what they'd done to be hunted, but it was clear that his first impression had been right.

So he went to Nozomi. "She's too noticeable," he told his wife bluntly. "Before I let her leave the farm, she'll have to dye her hair. Until then, have her tie her hair up in a topknot and dress her in my old clothes. I won't train her as a girl."

Nodding slowly, Nozomi moved into the spare bedroom where they were treating Ryo and Nanashi spent most of her time.

Isamu went outside and into the root cellar. There, wrapped in some old straw raincoats that had holes from age, were the only remnants of his old life. Life before Nozomi, when he'd been whispered of as the Blade of the West Wind. Not shinobi, the Red Sea had been closer to ronin samurai. Dangerous swords-for-hire that didn't have either loyalty to a Kage or the strict code of honor of bushido to reign in their activities, Isamu had spilled the blood of anyone he'd been given coin enough to kill and some he hadn't.

He covered his face with his hand at the memory. When he'd fallen in love with Nozomi, he'd known he would have to change. So the Red Sea had gone to war with itself. Those who lived went their separate ways, carrying the swords of their fallen comrades with them as a reminder.

Like they would ever be able to forget.

Removing his hand, Isamu considered. Nanashi was perhaps thirteen or fourteen. Even as a female she had a few good years of growth left. His hand almost picked up one of the swords, but then he hesitated. If he was going to do this, he would do it as Nozomi wanted it. As a member of the Red Sea, he knew perhaps seven disciplines of swordsmanship well enough to pass them on in a complete form.

But his own personal style was build around speed rather than brute strength. Any idiot could lift enough weights to be able to swing a club, which was what bigger, broader swords amounted to. They didn't have the flexibility and maneuverability offered by shorter blades.

No, he wouldn't give the swords of one of his comrades to Nanashi. He'd give her his own swords. Reaching beneath the blades, his rough hands came into contact with a silk-wrapped bundle. White silk, for mourning. That day, Shigeru had died and Isamu had been born.

He felt no nostalgia as he unwrapped the set. There was no accompanying wakizashi for the two katana. Honor had been something he'd been willing to sell for a price and he'd never felt the need to extend his hypocrisy that far. Light and fast, his two-sword style had been called the Fell Wings of the West.

The paired katana's fittings were elegant and luxurious. Wrapped with rayskin that had been left its natural color, a smoky grey, they'd then been wrapped with deep blue cloth. He'd need to switch out the sheathes, what with their golden tengu. They were swords meant arouse avarice and envy in anyone that saw them. The legend had been he'd killed a hundred men to pay the swordsmith who'd created them. Isamu remembered only fifteen, but it had been a long time ago.

He'd then killed the talented swordsmith with the katana so he could never make another blade. That part of the legend was true.

First he'd get her over the infernal clumsiness about her blindness that Nanashi displayed, then he'd start her on live steel. If she didn't have any fingers left by the end of it, that was her problem. Rewrapping the set, he pulled out another dully serviceable blade that had belonged to the last man he'd killed as a member of Red Sea. It was what he would use during their training.

Because he knew Nozomi would get the notion in her head once the boy was better, he took the only nodachi in his collection into the house with him. That the hilt was wrapped in silvery-white leather, which he'd thought at the time was stupid and still did, would be appropriate.

As she heard him come in Nozomi herded her charge into the main room. His old clothes were too big, he thought bluntly. But given time, Nozomi could take them in properly. The girl hadn't had much of a figure to begin with, so the loose fabric of the haori and hakama concealed all her curves.

"Nozomi tell you what's going to happen?" he asked.

The girl was hesitant in answering. Once she'd begun to recover from the shock she'd revealed herself to be quite the chatterbox. He'd have to fix that. "Yes, some of it." she said.

"Lesson two, start referring to yourself using masculine pronouns. I don't care if you're polite about it or not. While you're training with me, you won't think of yourself as a girl, not even in your head."

Namashi nodded slowly. "What's lesson one?" she asked.

"Shut up," Isamu said harshly. "Don't speak. While you speak you cannot listen, and if you can't hear, you won't be able to see. I'll teach you to move better than if you could see, but only if you can keep your mouth shut. Think you can do that?"

There was a long pause, then Nanashi answered with a short, decisive nod.

"Good," Isamu said. "Let's go outside and see if I can't teach you to listen."

-X-X-

Nanashi knelt by Ryo's bedside, leaning over to retrieve the drying cloth from his forehead, rinsing it and wringing the excess water off into the bowl that sat beside her. She'd relearned his face by touch, taking Nozomi's word that his hair was the color of dark coffee and his eyes were as unblemished by black as the finest freshwater pearls.

What Nanashi knew was that Ryo's lips were dry and cracked by his fever, but his lashes felt luxuriously thick and his hair when freshly washed was silky. There were no sharp angles to his face or his frame, but his body was firm where her's was soft. His hands were calloused but not rough and hard like Isamu-sensei's hands, which could be cast in steel.

She heard the change in his breathing as she spread the cloth across his forehead. "Where?" he asked.

"A farmstead in Rain. Isamu-sensei took us in. This is the first time you've woken in over two weeks," she told him.

Nanashi imagined she could hear his lashes flutter together like butterfly wings as he blinked at her. "Why can't I remember?"

"Nozomi, Isamu-sensei's wife, said we were most likely caught in a flash flood and washed downriver. Between the shock, trauma, and the rocks, Isamu-sensei says it's a wonder we lived."

Ryo was quiet. "I can't even remember my name."

"Nozomi named you Ryo."

"And what did they call you?" he asked quietly. "You can't remember who we were either, can you?"

"They named me Nanashi," she said. "No, I can't. Shinobi came looking for us after we came here, but they wouldn't tell our names or where we came from."

"But if we did things bad enough to be wanted by ninja...," his voice trailed off. Ryo was trying to put the pieces together, but it was as if he was working on an incomplete puzzle. He was worried, but he was also happy that his companion looked better than the last time he'd seen her before he collapsed. He'd been worried, because she looked so frail and lost with her blind eyes trying to focus on him.

Now she was clean, though dressed in men's clothing, her hair pulled up. She'd stopped trying to focus on him with her eyes, instead seeming to tilt her head slightly when he spoke. They'd called her Nanashi, but he tried searching the blank fog that was his memory for her real name. Perhaps something having to do with flowers? But the harder he tried to focus on it, the more out of reach it seemed.

"So the people who took us in were farmers?" he asked. Something else occurred to him a moment later. "Why are you using masculine pronouns in your speech?"

Nanashi seemed to hesitate before she answered him. "I'm trying to pay them back for their care. I've been doing chores, but Isamu-sensei has been teaching me to handle a sword. He wouldn't train me as a girl. I may be able to find work in the nearby towns."

Ryo noticed how she was cradling her hands in her lap and reached over and pulled them closer, awkwardly sitting up. He couldn't remember, but surely he'd never been this weak. It took an enormous amount of energy to hold himself up, but he ignored it to turn Nanashi's clumsily bandaged hands palm-side up. She winced as he unwrapped the makeshift bandages.

He frowned when the skin beneath was revealed. What wasn't scraped or bruised was blistered and two of the fingernails had been smashed, the quick black and purple. "Have you been taking care of these?"

Before she could answer a stout, grandmotherly woman with powder white hair bustled into the room. "Ryo, you're awake," she said warmly, coming to kneel next to his futon. Glancing down, she frowned even more deeply than he had when she caught sight of Nanashi's hands. "Isamu is a hard man, but he's not been asking that you not take care of yourself. Why haven't you had me look at those?"

Nanashi's lips formed an unhappy line. "I didn't want anyone to know I'd been...clumsy."

"You've been worried about Ryo and ignored them," Nozomi corrected her. "It will only get worse if you don't take care of your hands properly. Go get some warm, soapy water, something to disinfect them, and new bandages. Ryo can help you clean them, since he's given you such a scare."

"It'll be good exercise for him," she said when Nanashi was about to protest. "Now shoo," she commanded.

Nanashi rose and went to fetch the requested items. Her footsteps were soft but deliberate. She didn't hesitate or feel her way to the door. Nozomi followed his gaze. "My Isamu has been teaching her. Soon it'll be like she's not blind at all." She took his hands in her wrinkled but warm ones, massaging them.

"You're still weak, but it will be good for you to help Nanashi. You're all she remembers. She says you saved her during the flood." She helped him to move so that the wall took most of his weight.

Ryo cast his memory back, but that too was foggy. "I can't remember," he said unhappily. "But she's all I remember as well. Her sword training..."

Nozomi understood his concern. "Isamu would never tell her himself, but he says she's a natural. Her movements are very controlled once she forgets she's blind."

"I don't want her to get hurt," Ryo admitted. That was a lingering feeling that seemed to come from their shared, hidden past.

Nozomi patted his hands. "She needs to be hurt to grow."

He was about to make an answer to that when Nanashi returned to the room. Setting the supplies down on the floor, she awkwardly proffered her hands. With Nozomi's instructions, Ryo cleaned them, casting worried glances at Nanashi to gauge her pain. She made several faces that expressed her discomfort, but she didn't say anything. When he'd bandaged them, he watched as she flexed her hands.

"Good job, both of you," Nozomi congratulated them as Ryo couldn't find the words to say to Nanashi and her eyes stared at the wall some four inches to the left of Ryo's shoulder.

"Thank you," she told him. "I'm glad you're getting better. I have to go help Isamu-sensei."

Ryo watched her hasty retreat with bewilderment.

"She's going to go cry and she can't do that in front of you," Nozomi said, gathering the abandoned supplies. "Girl's got her pride. So rest up and stop worrying her."

His strength only returned slowly, but once Nanashi overcame the initial barrier of her blindness she gained skills at a rapid rate. The bond between Isamu and Nanashi as master and student only strengthened as time passed, he inspired to pass onto her skills outside the one that had been his original intention. The summer turned to fall and Nanashi helped outside with the harvest, while Ryo helped inside with the preserving. He still needed to sit and rest occasionally.

Besides learning how to pickle, Nanashi taught him her herbcraft so he could patch up Nanashi's injuries on his own. Despite how quickly she was learning in a controlled environment like sparring, the farm was a dangerous place for someone who couldn't see. But it gave them both things to do as the harvest ended and the heavy snows of winter began.

Nanashi's hair grew out and she intended to cut it because it was more difficult for her to arrange on her own. She felt she was imposing on Nozomi, asking for help so often, but the older woman insisted she grow it out. Even if she wore men's clothes, Nozomi said the long hair would remind her she was still a girl on the inside. Isamu didn't say anything, not even when Nozomi insisted that Ryo be the one to brush Nanashi's hair out each morning.

Ryo did it without complaint. His hair was even longer than Nanashi's and he found it soothing for her to kneel in front of a chair as he worked the wide-toothed comb through her pink locks. It gave them a chance to speak before a day of fighting with Isamu made her silent and watchful.

Now that Nozomi was satisfied that he was not ill enough to need complete silence and rest he shared the spare room with Nanashi, who'd been sleeping in the main room.

There was a soft rustle from the kitchen that proved Nozomi was awake and preparing breakfast as they began their morning ritual, Ryo patiently brushing Nanashi's hair one hundred strokes before he would pull it into a topknot.

"In the spring, Isamu-sensei says I can go into town with him and see if I can find work."

Ryo didn't hesitate, but he frowned. "The farm is self-sufficient. I think Isamu would prefer if you repaid him in labor rather than money."

"It's not all for him. I'll save some of it. I want to know who we were, but we won't find that here."

"If you wait until I'm stronger, I could help," Ryo said as he gathered her thick hair.

Nanashi started to shake her head but stopped when he pulled gently to remind her he was still working on it. "No. The ninja were looking for both of us. If I dye my hair and go as a boy, they won't recognize me. But if your eyes are as distinctive as Nozomi says, they'll be harder to hide."

Ryo couldn't argue her point, but he didn't like it. "Besides," she said, "if I do go to work in town, someone will need to help Isamu. If you have your strength back in time for the spring planting, it will take some of the burden off them both."

"If you go into town, be careful," Ryo said at last, both of them understanding he'd given his consent to her plan.

"What do you think we were like, before?" Nanashi asked.

Finished with her hair, Ryo played with the cheap wooden comb. "We could have been anything," he said at last. "Perhaps someone who loved us was paying the ninja to find us or we could have been criminals whose escape didn't go well."

In an uncharacteristically vulnerable gesture Nanashi drew her legs up to her chest. "So do you think that there were people who cared for us?"

"Even Isamu has Nozomi. Surely there was someone. After all, we were found together, so we had each other at the least."

"We could have been enemies," Nanashi said, but her tone said she was unconvinced.

Ryo doubted it. There was too strong an impulse to protect each other between them. "They're probably worried for us. But the river runs a long way before it comes to the delta. Who knows how far upriver we came from."

"It will take a long time for us to gather money to travel. But if I can make something of a reputation, we can take jobs as we go. And someday, surely, we'll find our way home again."

They both sat for a moment in silence, trying to imagine a place other than the farm as home.

"It will take a long time," Ryo finally said at last.

"Nozomi will cry," Nanashi said into her knees.

"Hmm," Ryo agreed deep in his throat. "Don't worry," he comforted her. "Isamu won't."

They both shared soft laughter at the thought of the hardened and gruff old man ever shedding tears over anything.


	2. What Came After Death

Disclaimer: I in no way own Naruto.

A/N: Yep, second chapter begins with a timeskip. The focus in this one, unlike my other stories, won't be the training, but will focus more on character development and interaction. It's why I decided to jump so abruptly in time, because of pacing issues. It's my first time undertaking a story with the intention of writing romantic elements in, so I look forward to feedback on those parts.

Memorium for the Rain

Chapter Two

What Came After Death

-X-X-

It had been three years since Matsuaka Isamu had discovered the mud-covered strangers on his way to check his fish traps. After the first winter, Nanashi had spent the next two winters and the greater part of the other seasons in nearby towns, working for the local nobility as a guard and sword-for-hire. He'd, for the Nanashi the townsfolk knew was the young man that Isamu had trained her as, built himself a reputation as a ruthless blade with cold, emotionless eyes that didn't even blink as he cut down petty cutthroats and assassins.

Many didn't realize that hard stare was a result of blindness.

With her already somewhat lacking breasts bound and claiming her real age as close as they could guess, sixteen, no one questioned the slim, more-than-slightly androgynous young man. Bitter herbs from Nozomi's garden stopped her monthly flow, though the old housewife had warned her it might make it difficult for her to have children later. With her hakama finally tailored to fit her narrow waist and layered tops, the illusion was complete.

Only her hair, now past her waist, had been left as a memorial. It had been died a shiny black that had almost blue highlights, she'd been told, and during the time she spent at the farm Ryo still combed it for her.

Ryo was not suited for sword combat, Isamu had decided about the third time he'd worked with him. He had the height needed for a long sword like the nodachi and when he was fully recovered, he also had the strength. But something about him and the swords, no matter the size or style, didn't fit. Nanashi could use them like extensions of her own body, but Ryo made a piece of elegantly tempered steel as unwieldy as a child's stick. Isamu kept it up until he was satisfied he'd be able to defend himself, then abandoned their practice. It was to Nanashi that he passed on everything he knew.

For Isamu, Nanashi was the son he had never had, even if she'd been unfortunately born a woman and he knew that Nozomi felt the same about Ryo. For a time, he thought about asking them to stay on at the farm, living quietly with him and Nozomi until the end of their days. But neither he nor his wife was that selfish, because they truly looked upon the youngsters as their children and so they wanted them both to be happy.

And they knew that neither Nanashi nor Ryo could be truly content until they knew where they had come from, who they had been. Even though they spoke not a word of complaint, helping in the fields, seeing to the sheering, selling the extra rice at market. And though Isamu was not a happy person by nature, this period marked the highest point in his life since he had met Nozomi all those years ago.

One fine autumn day, after the harvest had finished, he sent them both on their way, though they promised to visit and Nozomi cried.

Nanashi and Ryo spent more a year wandering the country they'd been found in years ago now, Nanashi taking more difficult and dangerous jobs as her notoriety increased. After a long string of particularly gruesome assignments that she'd refused to take Ryo with her on, they contracted for four months with a dangerous lord in Rain.

He was going on a long buying trip in the country of Konoha and he wanted muscle better than the shinobi of the Hidden Village he would visit. Ryo had expressed reservations about the idea of coming in with talons bared so obviously, but Nanashi had said tonelessly that shinobi died just like everyone else.

So Nanashi and Ryo, though they didn't know it, would soon return to the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

-X-X-

Sato Akihiro had not been very forthcoming about the duration of their trip, which left his samurai to make preparations that they might not have otherwise considered. Re-dying Nanashi's hair, for example, to ensure that there would be no tell-tale pink roots to hint at her hair color. Ryo was skilled at the herbal rinse that darkened her hair, but there was a certain awkwardness to the process that he'd never fully conquered.

Most generally because while Nanashi seemed to forget she was female and he generally thought of her as a kind of asexual companion while she was wearing her "working attire", Ryo couldn't quite manage that feat when she was nude.

It wasn't the lack of clothes, really. They often bathed together, because for two male companions of an age not to would have inspired suspicion that something was afoot and because it was convenient when Nanashi was cleaning up after an encounter to have someone who could actually see the blood in the bath with her. So he had a certain level of comfort, when it came to handling her body. And kami-sama knew her calloused hands were familiar with his own.

But there was something sensual about handling her hair, fine and soft with the oils he combed into it almost every morning, making it smell like spice. It was a dark, masculine scent that was at odds with the lighter scents that might have suited her female self. Ryo had found himself creating scents for her, but he'd always stopped when he'd realized what he was doing. He preferred crisp, citrusy essential oils where Nanashi was concerned, though he also liked neroli, the steam-distilled oil from the blossom of the bitter orange tree, for a floral note. Perfumery was a hobby that he sometimes practiced for the woman at the courts they frequented, but it had a more practical aromatherapy use in healing.

And they could also be used to confuse the damnable senses of the ninja who they were called upon to protect their clients from. A few they'd encountered had almost dog-like senses, able to pick up the scent of a lie through subtle variations in a person's scent, but that was almost impossible with certain additives in the perfumes. While they did not register on normal human senses, they could leave a dog nose-blind.

Others could cause hallucinations, induce certain emotions like lust or rage, or even kill a man.

After all, there was little enough physical assistance he could offer her, Ryo thought with a resignation only slightly tinged by bitterness. When they were hired on, it was for Nanashi's skills, not his. So he was of use to her where he could, even if it meant ingratiating himself with tittering court ladies. He was her eyes and occasionally her ears, in shadowed corners and women's beds.

_That_ was something he preferred to avoid. It was a rare occurrence, but sometimes their employers weren't absolutely honest about their rivals and enemies. Having been caught unawares a time or two, Ryo sometimes used his body as a weapon when it became obvious nothing else would do. Women and men both will say things to lovers that they wouldn't otherwise. Though he had no experience on the other side of the equation, he thought it might be easier with women, who equated sex with some measure of trust to begin with.

The sex wasn't bad, but the feeling of never being really clean again lingered for days afterward, his own trained senses smelling a woman's most intimate scents on his body, tasting her perfume when rigorous bathing should have washed it away.

But this was a dangerous path to follow when he was drying Nanashi's hair after a bath, patiently rubbing the towel through the blue-black strands created by using an indigo-based dye on her naturally rose-tinted locks. They were alone in the bathhouse, none of the other guards daring to enter after the thrashing Nanashi had given them when they'd been upset that it was two of Sato's newest hires that would accompany him to the country of Fire.

That was why they were here, taking advantage of the facilities instead of bathing in their quarters or at some small, out of the way bathhouse in town. That was why Nanashi was sitting naked on a wooden stool in front of him, calm as you pleased, her hair her only clothing and here he was, pulling it back behind her shoulders as he prepared to start the long process of combing it.

"At least put a towel around your waist," he nagged her. "What if one of the servants comes in? You know the maids make a habit of trying to catch us both without our clothes. I'll flip your hair in front of your shoulders to hide your breasts, but unless you're hoping they'll die of despair at the discovery that you lack some very important parts, cover up."

Nanashi chuckled. Ryo could still remember her original voice with perfect clarity, but years of forcing her voice into a lower register and a vicious near-successful garroting four months ago had permanently damaged her vocal cords. She spoke rarely, because if she was speaking it meant she couldn't hear as well and that meant her combat capabilities suffered. It drove women crazy. If it wasn't for her aloof façade and reputation, Ryo was certain they would have had some very awkward situations on their hands by now. More awkward than the time when the Daimyo's daughter had stalked her for a week straight and tried to convince her father to hire Nanashi on permanently as her personal bodyguard. "I'll hear them in the hall," she murmured.

"That's no reason…," Ryo grumbled as he continued to work with her hair, thinking privately that he spent half his time with Nanashi acting like a fishwife and the other half acting like, well, the other half was a conglomeration of partner, maid, and general fumbling assistant to the magician. When he'd swept her excessively long hair into a high horsetail and given it a remonstrative tug, he moved to give the comb to her.

"Hold this," he told her and her hand rose up unerringly to grab it. Moving swiftly into the next room, Ryo retrieved their clothes. Laying them on a shelf that was meant to hold toiletries as people washed before getting into the bath, he handed Nanashi her undergarments before sliding into his own.

Nanashi had once told him darkly that if he abused his power as wardrobe manager to make her wear mismatched clothes, she would kill him. For someone who could snuff a candle with her sword or cut a house fly in two, it was rather sadly amusing that for all her training, nothing could help her to distinguish colors.

Fortunately for her, the clothing of the samurai of Rain tended towards blues, greens, and blacks, which might be safely worn even without Ryo's guidance. Hakama in a deep forest green were worn with a narrow sash through which her twin swords were inserted. She dressed in layers to disguise the shape of her upper body, beginning with a thin ribbed turtleneck, over which went a quilted short-sleeved gi in a patterned blue-and-silver silk, then the final layer was a sleeveless vestlike garment that hung to her knees and was worn over her armor.

This was the outfit she could wear without assistance, but she required Ryo's help to fasten on the light armor that was designed to give her protection against senbon, shuriken, and other projectile weapons that were more difficult for her to protect herself against. _You try sensing distortions in the air while in the middle of battle, _she'd grumbled after the incident that had inspired her to have the black-enameled creations commissioned.

Nanashi was adjusting her gauntlets when a small voice came from the door. A maid, dark-haired, flushed, asked, "Would you like some help dressing, Ryo-sama, Matsuaki-sama?"

Though Nanashi's face had defaulted to her empty, blank "public" expression, he imagined he could feel her amusement at the overdone politeness. In reality they were nothing more than hired guards and attaching the –sama suffix was nothing more than the flattery of the girls working in the house. And while it might be awkward to address them both by the last name they had adopted and shared, the forwardness of it wasn't lost on him.

He waved the woman off politely, care not to reward what was essentially bad behavior. She might follow him into the baths hoping to catch a glimpse of his body in the guise of providing service, but if she wasn't careful, the other thugs that populated Sato's estate might just decide to use her "services" a little more freely than this incautious woman might like.

He put on the first layers himself, to avoid helping hands that might wander. A milder green pair of hakama, coupled with a matching quilted gi over a plain white one went on before his own armor that Nanashi's sure fingers fastened. Then, over top that, a hoari that color of golden leaves in autumn. His own sword was too long to carry comfortably at his side, so it was carried on his back. And, to cover the strange markings on his forehead, he always wore a bandanna. He'd kept his hair as long as when Isamu had found them, the loose strands sticking damply to his clothing.

Ryo was certain that the tattoo was a clue to their past, but he didn't feel comfortable simply showing it to people. There was no telling who had been his ally or his enemy before he lost his memory, so he left nothing to chance. He wore colored cosmetic contacts to give his strange eyes pupils and color, a bright springtime green that resembled Nanashi's. She generally kept her eyes closing, except in battle, where some kind of old reflex made her open them. Then that hard, blind stare that didn't seem all that blind at all became a weapon.

Thus attired, there was no one in Rain who couldn't recognize the pair.

As they exited the bathhouse, he could hear giggling, which he manfully ignored. The maids, at least, had the propriety to leave when dismissed. Women whose rank exceeded his own, however, they were the real irritation. Especially the married ones.

A familiar figure met them at a crossroads of paths. Hideyoshi Jin was the captain of Sado's regular guard, who would also be accompanying them to Konoha. His brown hair was worn shoulder length, the top half pulled up into a topknot, and his eyes were dark as pitch. He couldn't have been but a few years older than them, but faint stress lines already marked his face.

Ryo felt sorry for the samurai, who was a decent man trying to serve a vicious lord, but he would never appreciate the suspicion he looked upon the hire-swords with. Just because they gave their loyalty to no single lord did not make them less honorable, but ten years of service wouldn't be enough to change Hideyoshi's opinion.

"Sado-sama is making the last preperations to leave. Are you prepared?" he questioned them.

"Our things are waiting in our quarters. We had them packed last night."

Hideyoshi nodded curtly. "Good. We expect some trouble with bandits and the hidden village dogs on the road. Some of the gifts Sado-sama is taking are quite valuable. You are to make certain that neither Sado-sama nor his property comes to any harm. Is that understood?"

As a unit, Ryo and Nanashi bowed to the man who would be their superior for the duration of this mission. It happened that way, sometimes, that their employers preferred not to deal with them directly. "Hai," they chorused.

"We'll be leaving by the southern gate in half an hour. Don't be late."

Ryo watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner of an outbuilding.

"He will be dead from the stress within three decades," Ryo predicted.

Nanashi snorted and resumed walking. Shaking off the feeling of tension that the uptight samurai inspired, Ryo followed her to their quarters, where their little bit of gear rested. Ryo's wooden case of absolutes and essential oils was probably the most expensive thing they carried on their person besides their weapons as they still sent most of their money "home" to Isamu and Nozomi. Though Nanashi had elected to turn at least some of her wealth into uncut emeralds, which she kept with her in a little silk pouch.

Otherwise, they packed almost as light as ninja. Servants would carry the tents, bedding, and food, leaving them unencumbered in case of sudden attack. And, as Hideyoshi had said, they expected trouble.

-X-X-

They got trouble. Spades of it. Ryo wondered if some sort of general announcement had gone out to every two-bit bandit leader and mercenary to be had along the way that they were traveling with valuables. Nanashi hadn't complained, but it became fairly obvious along the way that she and Hideyoshi were the only real talent on the trip. His own skills came into use fairly often though, patching up the other five samurai that were accompanying them.

It took them almost two weeks, with the baggage train and Sado's palanquin slowing them, to reach Konoha. As Sado himself emerged to deal with the guards at the gate, Ryo took a moment to describe the city to Nanashi.

"It looks like it's laid out in an enormous circle. The wall must be more than thirty feet high and I'd estimate over six feet thick. There are only two visible guards at this gate, but there are more posted at regular intervals along the wall."

Nanashi made a 'hn' sound of understanding. "The forest here is less humid than home."

"Yes," Ryo agreed. "The average rainfall in Fire is less than half of that of Rain."

The corner of Nanashi's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "No bogs."

Ryo chuckled. "Thank kami-sama." If a man who could see was at a disadvantage in a terrain where there hidden sink holes and underwater roots, Nanashi had it doubly hard, which was why she tried to avoid the marshier areas of Rain, though that was sometimes impossible. Ninja, who had the ability to water walk, liked to lure samurai into such places where they had the distinct advantage.

Thus far, he'd been fairly pleased by what he had seen. There was remarkably little underbrush in the forests surrounding Konoha and there were plenty of wide meadows if Nanahi needed to force a head-on confrontation. This was a suitable place for his companion to clash with ninjas, if need be.

Ryo was surprised by the amount of people he saw on the bustling streets that they were led into as they went to call upon the leader of the hidden village, the Hokage. He was unsurprised, however, to pick out ninja in the crowd staring at them suspiciously. In a low voice that was almost swallowed by the noise of the crowd, he continued to describe the city to Nanashi.

Once they reached the tower that they were told was the Hokage's residence, Hideyoshi took point, Ryo and Nanashi flanking Sado. Nanashi seemed at ease, but Hideyoshi looked as if his spine might snap if he let the tension out of his shoulders. Ryo wasn't much better. He'd seen the distinctive combat vests of higher-level ninjas with alarming frequency since they'd entered the building. It was one thing to defend against shinobi, it was another to walk willingly into the shark's maw.

Whereas Ryo was uncomfortable, Nanashi was actually more at ease from the show of strength. This way, both parties would be less likely to begin hostilities. Sado was a hard man, but he wasn't a fool and he was fond of his own skin. The chances that his small party would be able to cut their way out were slim. And if they had to cut down a hothead ninja who had it out for Rain, she wanted witnesses.

But, even if either side were foolish enough to begin a fight, so long as she could get Ryo safely out, that was all that mattered. She had enough confidence in her skills that she was not afraid for herself. But for all Ryo's many talents, fighting was not among them. The thought of Ryo, taken away from her by a cowardly attack by one of these ninja…it was almost enough to make her lay hands on her sword, but she kept her stance easy and relaxed.

She half-listened to the formalities exchanged between Sado's rough voice and the weary voice of an older woman, who must be the Godaime. Nanashi could easily pick out the careful neutrality in the woman's voice, but there were hints of both hope and uneasiness intertwined in it. She'd heard that several years ago now there had been some kind of war between the hidden villages. It was why there were so many bandits in Rain, as their own hidden village had almost collapsed and disbanded. It was also why it was fertile ground for hire-swords like she and Ryo, because there simply weren't ninja to be had.

But her real focus was on memorizing the sounds of the ninja around her. Little things, like how they shifted their weight, the rate of their breath at rest, even the snuffling sound of a guard outside the door who seemed to have some sort of sinus problem. And the sound of four distinct sets of footsteps, walking up the hall to wait outside.

While Nanashi memorized the sounds of the ninja, Ryo memorized their faces, preparing to tell Nanashi later. It was expected that they would be assigned a guard while they were in Konoha, a sort of protection detail that would also serve as their keepers. He was not disappointed.

The Hokage, who looked to be a middle-aged blonde woman, except that even samurai in Rain knew that the Kage in Fire was the last of the Sannin, cleared her throat. "This is Hatake Kakashi and his team. They will be providing protection for you while you're in the city, Sato-san."

"Ah," Sato said, "the infamous Sharingan Kakashi. It's an honor."

Ryo cursed silently in his head. Apparently, trust wasn't the keyword for this new relationship. This was another ninja they heard whispers of with some regularity. Taking in his silvered, scarecrow hair and pleasant expression as he greeted them all with a casual "Yo!" he had to work to conceal his grimace. Hideyoshi did not. His eyes took in the rest of the man's team in a glance. Two dark-haired nin, one blonde. All male. Unusual. Most of the squads he'd seen come out of Konoha had a kunoichi on the squad, as if there were some equal opportunity gender quota that had to be filled.

"Hatake, show our guests around the city. I'll get one of the pages to show your servants to your hotel."

"My thanks, Hokage-sama," Sado said smoothly.

And so their party split. He, Nanashi, and Hideyoshi stayed with Sado, but the other five went to escort the goods to where they'd be staying.

-X-X-

_Well, isn't this a bright and cheery little group_, Kakashi thought to himself. Sado was no worse than the usual sort, but all his guards seemed to be a little on the dour side. Or maybe they were just a little uncomfortable at escorting a man in city chock full of shinobi who had been their mortal enemies only a few years ago.

They had taken the group up to the Hokage monument to give them the best view of the city. His squad had stepped back a bit to give both groups some privacy.

"Wow, I didn't think it was possible to have something stuck up your ass farther than Sasuke, but that Hideyoshi guy really doesn't know how to relax, does he?" Naruto said, a little louder than might be advisable. They weren't ninja, but they weren't deaf either.

"Shut up, dobe," Sasuke snapped.

Naruto snorted. "Whatever, teme. You can't argue with the truth."

_And I was hoping that one day they would grow up. _

"And check out that dark-haired dude. He could give Haku a run for his money when comes to sexual ambiguity."

"You use such big words for such a small mind," Sasuke drawled.

"That's right, dickless. Don't take out your own gender identity issues out on other people. He's not any prettier than the Uchiha."

"Do you even listen to yourself speak, Sai?"

"Any idea who he and the tall one are?" Sasuke asked Kakashi.

Kakashi glanced back at the group and decided the 'tall one' might be an appropriate moniker for the brown-haired man. He had a good half a foot on his companion and was taller than even Sasuke. While Sado had introduced Hideyoshi as the captain of his guards, he had failed to introduce the other two.

"Not a clue," Kakashi said cheerfully. "Maybe Naruto might like to go over and ask, though."

"Why me Kakashi?" Naruto whined. "It's Sasuke who wants to know, make him do it."

Kakashi sighed, then walked over to where the two in question were standing, slightly separate from their employer and captain. "I forgot to introduce the rest of my team," he said by way of answer when one of the tall one's brows rose. Up close, it was easier than ever to tell that both of them fell into the bishounen category. "Uzumaki Naruto, Sai, and Uchiha Sasuke."

"I am Matsuaki Ryo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Matsuaki Nanashi," the shorter samurai said in a clipped voice.

A silver brow rose. "Are you related?"

"We share the same adoptive father," Ryo explained.

"Ah. How long have you worked for Sado-san?"

"We're with him on a four-month contract," Ryo said stiffly.

"Hire-swords, then. Well, that makes our profession fairly similar, doesn't it?"

"Not at all," Ryo replied. "I am afraid I must ask, Hatake-san, why you are asking so many questions."

"Just a gesture of goodwill, that's all."

Ryo's green eyes narrowed and Kakashi felt the urge to sweatdrop. For all that Rain had gained these past few years, it didn't seem it had lost its innate suspicion of people asking questions.

"Well, Ryo, Nanashi, I hope you'll enjoy your time in Konohagakure."

Ryo's reply was forced. "I'm sure we will."

A/N: Yes, we have a little bit of role reversal going on. Yes, it will get worse. Soon our favorite Konoha-nin strike up a beautiful acquaintanceship with the two samurai from Rain. And, I suppose a warning. There were be no headfirst tumble into romance in this story. It's not really suited to my writing style, so be prepared for slow advancements. But also some surprises. The rating may go up in the future. 


	3. When the Rain Came

Disclaimer: If I wrote the manga, my favorite characters wouldn't be killed off on a semi-regular basis.

A/N: Short, yes. I'm easing back in to fanfiction after that monster FKftD.

Memorium for the Rain

Chapter Three

When the Rain Came

In the privacy of their shared room, knowing they would not be disturbed as Hideyoshi was accompanying Sato to a private dinner with the Hokage and having searched carefully for shinobi spies, Nanashi stripped down to nothing more than a loincloth and gingerly lowered herself onto the western style bed, rolling over onto her stomach. "Today went as well as might be expected," she remarked quietly.

Ryo grimaced, shedding his armor and traveling clothing in favor of jinbei, then he rifled through his luggage until he located the remainder of his massage oil, a blend of apricot kernel and jojoba oil. Ryo also liked grapeseed oil for massage, for it had very little scent, but the climate in Rain was poor for grape growing, demanding warmer climes and less rain. Perhaps he might have more luck in the Konoha markets, but the price in Rain had been far more than he'd been willing to pay for qualities he could find in other oils more cheaply.

This practice was healing for he and Nanashi both, he instinctively relaxing the same muscles he soothed in her neck and back. Nanashi's hands were deft and skilled, though they were also calloused and strong, but he rarely let her return the favor. These small things, the aromatherapy, the massage, the information gathering, they were all _his_, just as swordsmanship was _hers_. It was what made him feel useful, needed. As if he were not baggage on this journey.

She made a soft sigh of contentment as he smoothed her long hair out of the way, coating his hands lightly in the oil after a quick check to make sure her vertebrae were all in alignment. Combat with ninja could force a body to adapt all sorts of uncomfortable and unnatural positions in order to avoid bodily harm, but the spine was a delicate thing. Nanashi most often dislocated vertebrae in her neck as she tracked ninja using her hearing, unconsciously stiffening the muscles in her neck as she attempted to triangulate the position of her enemies without the advantage of being a bat or owl.

Satisfied that all was in order, he began the relaxing process of tending to Nanashi's wellbeing, feeling the stress of his day begin to dissolve as he smoothed tension from her muscles. Her narrow back rippled with muscle and scars, most puncture wounds. Projectiles presented a difficulty she never encountered if she could turn a match into a blade-to-blade battle. He was familiar with every scar, could almost remember the story of each one. He had forgotten an entire lifetime of personal memories, so he filled the empty and haunting spaces with Nanashi and he knew she did the same. Together they were an endless circle, but alone they were broken and incomplete. "Relax," he murmured gently.

"There were a lot of ninja," she replied into the pillow. "What was today like? Our escorts sounded...interesting."

That was always the question. What was today like? As if she hadn't been there, but she never asked, What couldn't I see today? His eyes traveled by reflex to where a long scar was hidden by her hair. "They were. The Village Hidden in the Leaves is not like Rain. You could probably hear it-this place is far more lively than any marketplace you will find in our country. And some of that brightness is reflected in their ninja. One of the ninja assigned to us was wearing an orange and black tracksuit beneath a red cloak."

Nanashi chuckled. "Which one? The loud one? Uzumaki?"

"Yes. He's blond as well. He has the entire warm color spectrum covered. If it's supposed to be camouflage, it must be for some sort of tropical rainforest. He can pretend to be a toucan."

Nanashi's laughter was stifled, but he could feel the vibrations of it beneath his hands.

"Their leader, the Copy Ninja, wears standard jounin attire. But his hair is silver and sticks straight up, like someone planted ornamental grass on his head."

"Is it on purpose? A shinobi's sense of style seems to be very strange."

He reflected a minute. "I think it might be natural. Though it is peculiar. The texture of his hair must be very coarse."

"The others..."

"The Uchiha and the one without a family name." Rumors of that cursed clan had been heard even in Rain, but Ryo would believe in an ability as ridiculous as this Sharingan when he witnessed it himself. Even the rumors did not agree on what it did. Did it copy the jutsu of other ninja? Allow the user to look a few moments into the future to predict an opponent's movements? Did it enhance genjutsu abilities? Could it be used for mind control? It was preposterous to think even a ninja's bloodline limit would be capable of all of these things. "They make a very good foil to the Uzumaki. In coloring, they are similar. Black hair, black eyes, very pale skin."

"The Uchiha is heavier."

"Yes. The one they called Sai has the typical ninja build, but the Uchiha is more muscular. He could almost pass as a sell-sword." Recalling another detail, he told her, "He does wear a chokuto."

Which was longer than the typical blade used by ninja, which were designed to be used in a tighter environment than a katana. Nanashi's swords, in order to allow more dexterous handling, were shorter than the average katana and might not be really considered by some purists to be katana at all. Once she had mastered Isamu's style, she had been given leave to rename his swords. So far as he was concerned, they were as dead as the man he had once been. Though two swords, she used them for a single style, so she gave them a single name: Tenchi. Heaven and Earth.

"If he decides to turn it into a sword battle, he will not stand a chance against you," he predicted.

"Then let us hope he is a fool."

Ryo chuckled. "With luck, Sato will not need us for anything more than display."

"With luck," Nanashi's voice was sleepy now that her curiosity had been assuaged. "What of the Hokage? I've heard she uses an illusion to conceal her age. Her voice did not sound like an old woman's."

"No. She looks as if she had never seen the far side of thirty. She has hazel eyes. Her hair is blonde and she wears it in two loose pigtails."

"Childish."

Ryo murmured a soft sound of agreement. But she already concealed her age with jutsu, so perhaps she had never considered reconciling herself to the idea of aging with grace. "She also has very bountiful assets," he informed her with as much tact as he was able and Nanashi snorted. But then she turned her face to the side, expression thoughtful as she stared sightlessly at the wall. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just...something seemed very familiar about your description."

"You've remembered something?" It was asked in level tones, for it was not the first time that either of them had suffered through the feeling of familiarity, only to have it slip away.

"It's gone now," Nanashi confirmed. "But recognizing the description of the Hokage would mean little. She has been Godaime for some time now. I could have simply seen her picture somewhere or she might share a resemblance to someone I once knew."

Ryo agreed, but he still moved his hands to her shoulders in a comforting gesture. And then, hesitantly, he pressed a chaste kiss into her dark hair as he pulled it free of its tie. "Remember to put your chest bindings back on before you fall asleep," he admonished.

Nanashi hummed agreement, but made no move to rise, so he made his way into their tiny bathroom, removing his contacts and headscarf. Staring at the mirror, seeing the reflection of his strange pale eyes, he murmured the question he had been asking for years. "Who are you?"

-X-X-X-

Nanashi rose when her body told her it was time. Unless her bed lay in the path of a window, where she might feel the spreading warmth of the sun, day and night seemed much the same. After a few moments, she could tell the time with what Ryo said was remarkable accuracy, but it was only a matter of paying attention.

It was easier when outside or in a hotel rather than the housing set aside for merchants and diplomatic visitors, but she could still hear the slow, steady sounds of village not yet awake. As Sato was a merchant, his quarters were closer to the markets and business district and with her keen hearing she could just make out the greetings of stall owners as they opened shop for the day. Early then. If they had left the window open, she might have been able to gauge the humidity in the air to judge if the sun had risen high enough to burn away the morning dew, but for now she began her morning routine. Utilizing her considerable memory as well as all the little tricks Isamu had taught her, she made her way to the bathroom without error. She found her toiletries set in neat order on the side of the sink. Ryo's doing.

Nanashi smiled. Ryo was considerate by nature, but she sometimes suspected that he did this to remind her that her life went much more smoothly when he was at her side. She could function without assistance, despite her blindness. Nanashi had done so for months at a time on ugly missions, dangerous missions where Ryo's only average skill with a sword had no place. It had made Ryo unhappy, but Nanashi had found she would rather he be unhappy and safe than bleeding out on some kami-forsaken stretch of country by her side simply so she could be certain her socks matched. Ryo was all she had, all she could be certain of. He was the key to her past and the reason she found working for men like Sato bearable in the present.

She knew what he did for her. What he sacrificed. The women whom he let take advantage of him, so he could take advantage of them in turn. To look without looking for their past was the most dangerous and frustrating exercise she had ever engaged in. Rain was unstable and ugly. To go around questioning people about his eyes and the tattoo on his forehead and her hair would get them killed sooner than it would gain them any clue to their identities. So they were alert for any hints, but none came. Ryo had never, in their travels, seen anyone with eyes that matched his own. And while there had been a person or two who had pink hair, those leads had done nothing more than raise false hope.

She wondered how long she could hold on without losing hope entirely of rediscovering her memories. Her hands clenched on the edge of the sink, but finger by finger she surrendered her grip when her hands began to ache. They were deep in unfamiliar territory, surrounded on every side by ninja who were a few ill-considered acts away from being hostile. She could not afford to injure herself. Nanashi did not delude herself into thinking, whatever her skill, that she could take on an entire hidden village, but she did think that she could make good Ryo's escape and her own.

Ryo, for his all weakness with a sword, which was only weakness when compared to someone of her own or Hideyoshi's caliber, had tricks worthy of a ninja. His perfumery, a habit easily underestimated or mocked could be used with deadly consequences, his had a charisma with the opposite sex until all but the most experienced kunoichi faltered, and he had an incredible and unexpected skill with disguises.

She listened for him as she readied herself carefully for the day, re-binding her breasts and sweeping her hair up before she washed her face and brushed her teeth. The sound of running water woke Ryo, who stirred but stayed in bed, his breathing quicker than when he slept.

"Good morning," Nanashi called out.

"G'morning," he murmured back, his voice muffled in his pillow. "Sato has a meeting with some of Konoha's merchants at noon, but until then we're free to do as we please. Did you want to explore the market?"

Nanashi hummed an affirmation. She tried very hard not to consider her blindness a handicap, but neither would she let pride interfere with any advantage a thorough knowledge of her battlefield would gain her. Ryo knew it well and he rose noisily from the bed, making his own preparations for the day. When Nanashi would have donned her armor, a gentle hand descended on her wrist.

"Konoha doesn't have such a large population of sell-swords. In fact, I didn't see any on our trip to the Tower. We don't need to alarm the citizens and put their ninja on edge."

She hissed frustration through her teeth, but then subsided. Silence, stillness, that was what she needed from herself in order to 'see'.

-X-X-X-

Despite not wearing armor, in Rain they would have aroused suspicion simply by being what they were, as if their non-allegiance was blazoned as clearly on their foreheads as the shinobi wore theirs. Here, in the main market, people from different neighborhoods came to acquire items not found nearer their homes, so many of these people were strangers to each other. Nanashi and he never garnered more attention than the shinobi that he marked, fewer than he might have expected for a city of this size. But Konoha had borne the brunt of the last Shinobi War, so perhaps it was less of a surprise in hindsight.

Flirting idly with a middle-aged shopkeeper's wife who didn't receive enough attention from her husband, even now occupied with leering harmlessly at a pair of younger kunoichi, he memorized the places most frequented by Konoha's military populace. Two bars, a noodle stand, one barbecue restaurant. Public places, not like the specialized shops that catered to their weapon and clothing needs. Those workers would likely sign contracts of nondisclosure and actually be expected to keep them. But waiters and waitresses had no such burden and it was remarkable, really, what kind of intelligence could be gleaned from conversations innocently overheard.

His parting smile to the woman was measured, friendly but not overly inviting. A woman handled so carelessly by her husband would look for stability, discretion, and a certain measure of reserve in a lover. It wasn't that she wasn't fond of her husband, but she wanted to be made to feel as if she wasn't good enough for him simply on the merit of being female. She wanted to know that the relationship was exclusive. But, as the girls he laid eyes upon remained the same age and she got older, she also wanted to know she was still attractive, hence one last lingering look.

"That's a bad habit," Nanashi commented dryly as they left the shop.

"There's nothing wrong with making women feel special," he retorted in a low voice. "It's a pity that we can't have ramen for lunch. One stand in particular seems to attract a lot of shinobi clientele. And there's a female waitress."

Nanashi frowned slightly but made no comment. She liked ramen well enough, he knew, but declined to eat messy things in public.

Someone tsked loudly from above them and Ryo tensed as the silver-haired ninja from the day before dropped to the ground in front of them, holding an orange-backed book half-open. His single visible eye creased in a teasing smile, voice equally light. "Flirting with women to get what you want-I agree with your partner, that _is _a bad habit. You might have just asked."

"I think you might have been a little disappointed," Ryo said, regaining his metaphoric balance as Nanashi seemed to ignore them both, head slightly toward the shops across the street. "Can we help you with something Hatake-san?"

He snapped his book shut with an audible _thud._ "You remember my name. I'm flattered, Ryo-kun."

"Only a fool wouldn't remember an enemy ninja as highly ranked as you are," Ryo replied stiffly.

Kakashi waved him off. "We're not enemies at the moment. In fact, we're tentative allies. Isn't that so, Nanashi-kun?"

Nanashi turned toward the sound of Kakashi's voice. "There is Ryo, my employer, and then there are potential enemies," she replied coldly, bristling at his patronizing.

Kakashi looked taken aback. Then he chuckled, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. "None of this moral grey nonsense for a sell-sword, then? Just deepest black. That kind of thinking will make you old before your time."

"Was there a particular reason you decided to reveal yourself?" Ryo asked.

"No. I just thought I'd point out a few good restaurants. Wouldn't want you to have a poor impression of the delights of Konoha's culinary fare."

Ryo's eyes narrowed. "You've been assigned to us," he assessed. "Your Hokage wants this alliance to be successful, so she can't risk having sell-swords who might sabotage it, whether through the order of Sato or without his knowledge at the behest of another employer." He shrugged. "Do as you like."

Kakashi again looked startled, so he couldn't help but be a little pleased. His lips curved into a faint smile. "The thing about women is that they say more with their bodies than they do in words. You learn to watch them carefully. You, for example, would never go out of your way to introduce two sell-swords you're unfamiliar with to a good restaurant. Your team dynamic is interesting, but none of them see you as a supportive figure. Your body language is closed. You don't even make a pretense of being open and giving. You don't just read that book, you use it as a barrier, held between your body and us like a shield. People are taught it's rude to interrupt a person when they're reading, so they don't approach you and you can observe them without actually interacting. Everything about you screams that you've had a past trauma that's made you choose to isolate yourself from people. A betrayal. It would have to be someone you cared deeply about, for it to follow you this long. Your mother?" He watched him carefully, not pausing in his assessment. "No, you father. Yes," he confirmed, "the father who you admired deeply and who betrayed your expectations of him. How am I doing thus far, Hatake Kakashi?" Ryo asked mockingly.

A/N: Again, this is my first time writing romance, but my style is usually to take it slow (But not Five Kingdoms slow or we would be thirty-three chapters in before Neji even realized he had feelings for Sakura). You can, however, feel free to make suggestions about the kind of things you'd like to see in this fic. I won't promise to use them, but I am interested in seeing what you are interested in. And what level of graphicness you'd feel comfortable reading. I am capable of writing smut, though I tend to back it up with some solid romance first, but I'll leave it up to you, the readers to decide just how smutty you want this to get. This site doesn't support MA work, but trust me when I say that a little innuendo can go a long way. And I am conducting this kind of informal poll after a certain omake addition to Five Kingdoms earned me a scathing review or two, even after I warned people that I was writing smut of smuttiest kind. Please don't feel pressure: this can also be a love affair of the sweet and innocent kind (In fact, considering my track record, you might have to prod me with reviews to remind me of the genre). My style and ideas for this story are flexible enough to support either. Also, as a sidenote, this is my first time attempting to write a blind character. Allowing for some suspension of disbelief due to what could be accomplished in canon with chakra, if you see something off, tell me.


End file.
